


You Cut Through All The Noise

by queerofthedagger



Series: Prongsfoot Stories [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: sirius_black, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentioned Remus Lupin, Mentions of homophobia, Minor Sirius Black/Remus Lupin (past), Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed, Sirius Black Fest, Underage Drinking, mentions of abuse, oblivious idiots, they're both 16 (that's why it's tagged Underage)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2020-12-16 16:43:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21039440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerofthedagger/pseuds/queerofthedagger
Summary: During the summer after his 5th year, Sirius runs away from home. When he made his way to the Potters, he didn't think about the fact that he would have to share a bed with James, a rather difficult thing due to his unrequited crush. But, is it really?





	You Cut Through All The Noise

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Prompt #25: "When Sirius is kicked out, he moves in with James. The only problem is now they have to share a bed."  
Likes: James comforting Sirius, Mutual Secret Pining, Crying and Kissing, Inappropriate Erections  
Dislikes: Much Angst, Suicidal thoughts, Panic Attacks
> 
> Thanks to Maraudersaffair for the marvellous prompt, I had loads of fun writing this!  
Also many thanks to the Mods for organising this fantastic fest!  
Last but not least, a lot of thanks to [bblgumbby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bblgumbby/profile) and [belledejour](https://archiveofourown.org/users/belledejour/profile) for your betaing and help! <3

Sirius’ hands are trembling and his vision blurry, the dark colours of his room that oftentimes feels more like a prison fading into each other, with the occasional spot of red and gold in between. He clenches his jaw against the pain and nausea and limps from one corner to the other, throwing clothes and schoolbooks into his trunk without any semblance of order.

He needs to leave. He needs James, and while he’s at it, maybe a strong Obliviate to erase every memory of this blasted place and its occupants.

The soft creaking of his door makes him freeze for a second before he slowly turns around. He won’t give his mother the satisfaction of seeing him scared. To his surprise, it’s not his mother standing in the doorway though. Really, the lack of screaming should have been a clue.

Regulus’ eyes move from him to the open trunk on his bed, and he closes the door before he says, “So, you’re leaving?”

Sirius sighs and returns to pick up things he might need. “I have to Reg, you heard her.”

They drifted so far apart since he started Hogwarts, but that doesn’t stop the guilt from churning in his gut at the thought of leaving his little brother behind in this hellhole.

"I suppose. You could always-"

"Don’t,” he interrupts harshly while whirling around to face him because he already knows what Regulus is going to say. “I won’t change who I am for them, I won’t lie about what I believe in and in no _fucking_ way am I going to marry some stuck-up Pureblood witch that is most likely related to us.”

He throws some magazines into the trunk with a bit too much force, and they scatter across his bed. He slumps against his wardrobe, his body protesting against all the movement and he has to actively resist the urge to just drop onto his bed.

He doesn’t know how he’s going to make it all the way to Godric’s Hollow, just that he has to. There’s a restless urgency clawing at his mind, telling him if he doesn’t leave tonight, he’ll never go through with it.

“Did you have to tell them you’re gay though? I mean what did you expect?” Regulus asks, and the pleading in his voice prompts Sirius to look at him, really look at him for the first time since he entered his room.

To most people, Regulus would look like he doesn’t have a care in the world, all pristine robes and flawless posture. But now that he’s paying attention, he can see the tense line of his shoulders, the muscle twitching in his jaw and the fear and worry swimming in his eyes.

They both know as soon as he walks out of this house, everything is going to change. There will be no turning back for him, and Regulus will bear the brunt, will suddenly have all the expectations and demands of being the Black heir dumped on his shoulders.

The thought increases the feeling of guilt tenfold, his resolve to finally leave all of this behind wavering, and he runs a hand through his hair, grimacing as he pulls too harshly due to his trembling fingers. The prickling pain brings back memories of his mother’s curses though, silencing his doubts once more.

“Come with me. You don’t have to stay here either, _please_.” It sounds more like begging than he intended, but in the end, it doesn’t really matter. He knows the answer already, anyway.

“I can’t,” Regulus confirms his expectation and Sirius scowls. “I don’t agree with everything they say, you know that, but I don’t agree with everything the Potters stand for either and it’s not like your friends are particularly fond of me. Let’s not have this fight again, please?”

Normally, Sirius would most definitely have this fight again, but he’s so bloody tired. “Reg please, you heard what mother said. They’re going to make you join Voldemort and you’re going to get yourself killed. Please, _please_ come with me,” he continues to plead instead.

He doesn’t even know if he’s still trying to convince Regulus or just needs to do this to not drown in guilt and self-loathing later on. It won’t help either way, but then he’s not known to be very rational on the best of days.

Regulus only smiles ruefully, as if he knows what’s going on in his head. He pulls a small pouch out of his pocket and holds it out to Sirius. “Here, it’s the money I have on me right now, you’re going to need it.”

Sirius hesitates only for a moment before he crosses the short distance between them and pulls him into a hug. It feels too final, and he has to take deep, measured breaths to not start crying.

“We’ve always cleaned up after each other’s messes, didn’t we?” Regulus mumbles into his shoulder, and Sirius only hugs him tighter.

It’s true enough; while Regulus has never been one to stand up to their parents, he always brought Sirius food when his mother locked him into the cellar, found loopholes in her orders to Kreacher and read him stories through locked doors. In return, he couldn’t count how many times he took the blame for something Regulus mucked up or held him through his nightmares when they were younger.

He forcefully clears his throat, hoping his voice doesn’t sound as wrecked as he fears. “I know we kind of... I don’t know, we aren’t so close anymore, but promise me you won’t do anything stupid, promise me you’ll come to me if you need help?”

He clenches his fingers into Regulus’ robes, unable to let go just yet. There are so many things he still wants to say, but it’s like the words get stuck in his throat. This is already the longest and most emotional conversation they had in years, and no matter how much it feels like an irrevocable goodbye, he can’t bring himself to say more than he did.

They both step back at the same time and look at each other for a few seconds. Regulus averts his eyes first and opens the door behind him. “Take care,” he says softly, and then he’s gone. Sirius realises only now that his brother didn’t promise anything, and he presses a hand against his mouth to stifle a sob.

He draws in a deep breath and straightens up, as much as his aching body allows him to. Right. He needs to get out of here. Taking in his mess of a room, he collects a few more things he’s going to need and closes and shrinks his trunk, puts on his leather jacket and grabs his broom.

Thanks to the never-ending lessons in Astronomy he’s going to find his way to Godric’s Hollow, more or less, and without looking back he opens the window and takes off.

Warmth and humidity hit him in spite of it already being long past dusk and he grimaces, right now loathing how untypically hot this summer is.

He feels like rain and thunder, like having adrenaline rush through his body with a storm attempting to throw him off course. While the heat isn’t as bad higher up, the humid and loaded air still makes his skin crawl and feels plain wrong. He can’t say why, James would most likely tell him it’s simply his need for melodrama, and he might be right, but he’s long past caring.

He shakes his head and refocuses. Right, Godric’s Hollow is South-West to London which he can find on his own, and as soon as he left the grey of the London night sky behind, he needs Scorpio, brightest star Antares. He’d come across Southampton eventually, and from there he’d find his way.

He presumes it’s going to take him 3 or 4 hours, and he clenches his eyes shut for a few moments. Everything hurts already, he feels like there’s no energy left within him, like every single muscle he possesses is trembling and if he doesn’t pay close attention, he will just fall off his broom.

Not to mention, 4 hours of flying give him a lot of time to think, and he wants to do anything but. It’s not like he has a choice though, so he draws from his thankfully endless well of stubbornness and tries to distract himself with constellations and plans for the summer.

If asked later, Sirius could never tell how he made it. He knows that he lost any feeling in his limbs after an hour and that he only just prevented himself from falling several times. He remembers rushing past colourful lights hundred of feet underneath him while still flying over London, remembers darkness trying to swallow him whole over the countryside with only the night sky above him, and the way the pain was the only thing that kept him focused.

When he arrives at the Potter Cottage, dawn is already creeping over the horizon. If he had any more strength left in him, he would have scowled at the cheery chirping of birds and the deceptive feeling of peace and vitality a summer morning tries to elicit in people.

As it stands, he doesn’t even manage a landing, just tumbling down the last few feet and crashing into the front door. His legs and arms are burning with the sudden change of position and his head is empty, apart from a loud ringing in his ears.

* * *

James startles awake and instinctively grabs for his glasses and his wand, before even processing what roused him in the first place. A quick glance at the clock tells him that it’s barely 5 am. So definitely something that woke him up.

He slips out of his bed and pulls on a jumper before leaving his room, nearly running into his father who’s coming down the corridor and instantly gestures for James to stay back. His mother follows shortly after and at her look he sighs but sits down at the top of the stairs from where he can at least listen to what’s going on.

He can hear his parents murmuring to each other and the sound of the front door being opened, followed by a thud and a groan. He jumps up, his fingers clenching around the banister in worry, but there aren’t any noises that would indicate a starting fight.

“Oh Merlin,” he hears his mother say, and he itches to go downstairs despite his parents’ silent warnings when his mother calls his name.

He frowns, a sense of foreboding washing over him and runs down the stairs, jumping over the last two steps and nearly losing his balance when he turns the corner too fast, only just catching himself on the doorway to the kitchen.

He draws in a sharp breath at the sight in front of him, his parents both holding up Sirius between them like he has no strength left of his own, and he probably doesn’t. His face is white as a sheet with a sheen of sweat covering his skin, his hair clinging to it in messy strands. What gets him more than anything else though is the way grey eyes stare right through him, nothing of their usual life left in them. 

“He crashed into our front door on his broom,” his mother explains. “Come on, we should put him on the sofa in the living room so I can run a few diagnostic charms.”

He nods, but the words don’t really reach him and he’s still staring at Sirius, like if he just looks for long enough there might be a spark of recognition, of _something_.

“James!” His father’s urgent tone finally gets him to move and open the door at the end of the corridor, so that his parents can carry Sirius into the living room.

As soon as they carefully lay him down on the sofa, he kneels on the floor next to him. Now that he’s looking more closely, he notices the shivers wrecking Sirius’ whole body, can see the dried blood on his lips and the dark circles under his eyes, and his heart clenches in his chest.

At the strangled noise his mother makes he turns his head to look at her, but she’s staring at the results of her diagnostic charm, her lips pressed into a thin line and there’s anger in her eyes he rarely sees. Before he can ask her what’s going on, she’s already out of the room, and he notices only now that his father isn’t here any longer either.

He sighs and turns back, carefully wrapping his fingers around Sirius’ freezing hand who flinches violently in response. His own heart is beating too fast in his chest and Merlin, he feels so _helpless_ right now, he doesn’t even know how to offer any sense of comfort.

It’s like his mind is unable to connect the friend who’s usually brimming with energy and mischief with this beaten down, silent version and it makes his throat burn and his chest ache. Not even Remus’ transformations affect him like this, but he really doesn’t feel like examining that any closer right now, instead just squeezing Sirius’ hand and resting his head against his shoulder.

It’s not like he didn’t know that Sirius’ family is horrible or that he never comforted him through one of his countless nightmares, but somehow this feels infinitely worse – every other time, Sirius was at least still _there_.

A hand on his arm startles him and he looks up at his mother, who offers him a pained smile. “I need to give him some Potions. Your father made tea,” she says, and he reluctantly lets go of Sirius to make room for her, only nodding mutely.

“James,” Sirius mumbles, his voice hoarse and pleading and so very small that he has to clench his eyes shut to not start crying.

“I’m here Sirius, you’re safe,” he says as calmly as possible, digging his nails into his palms against the urge to reach for him again. 

He doesn’t get an answer and falls into the nearest armchair, his eyes not leaving Sirius’ drawn face. “What did they do to him?” he finally asks when his mother spells the third Potion into Sirius.

She sighs, and he can see that she’s arguing with herself over letting him know. “Please, tell me?!” he begs, irrationally hoping that it will dispel some of the horrible scenarios his mind is providing him with.

“He’s suffering aftereffects of prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus Curse, and severe exhaustion because he apparently thought it would be a good idea to fly his broom all the way here after that happened,” she finally says, and he can practically feel his face draining of all colour. He bites his tongue to stop himself from swearing, or crying or screaming, he doesn’t even know anymore.

“Will he be alright?” he asks instead, trying to focus on something else than the fury and worry that threaten to overwhelm him.

His mother smiles at him, her eyes softening in understanding. “He’ll be fine. I gave him Potions for his nerves and muscles and I’m going to give him a PepperUp now, so he can eat something before going to bed. It will take a few days and I can’t say anything about his mental state, but he’s here now and he’ll stay here, okay?”

He only nods numbly, fixing his eyes back on Sirius. Even when looking a right mess, he still manages to look handsome.

He barely bites back a groan at that stray thought; honestly, who comes up with this kind of stuff when his best friend is in such a state?!

“He’s going to wake up in a few minutes,” his mother says while putting a blanket over Sirius. “I’m going to help your father in the kitchen, I think he’s making soup. You keep an eye on him and call me if anything happens.” She doesn’t wait for an answer, only squeezing his shoulder in passing before leaving the room.

He lets his head fall against the backrest, breathing deeply. It’s not the first time that he takes notice of Sirius’ looks, or that he wonders why their friendship sometimes feels just a little bit _different_ from those with the others. He couldn’t even tell when exactly it started, just that something shifted at some point during their fifth year and that putting it down to them understanding each other blindly just feels insufficient, somehow.

But whatever the reason, for now, he’s just going to focus on being there for him, on the anger simmering just underneath his skin and on finding ways to make him laugh, to make him _forget_. At least as much as that is possible when your own parents tortured you.

A groan coming from the sofa pulls him out of his spiralling thoughts and he instantly jumps up, crouching next to Sirius once again, whose eyes open slowly.

He smiles softly, his hand pushing a few strands of hair out of Sirius’ face on its own accord. “Hey there Padfoot, welcome back.”

Sirius stares at him blankly, and for a few seconds he’s terrified that he has gone right back to the state he arrived in, but then recognition dawns in those grey eyes and Sirius’ lips twitch slightly. “I made it,” he whispers hoarsely, and James can only nod, not trusting his voice not to break.

They just stare at each other and there are too many emotions flickering through his eyes all at once, but he’d take it over the vacant emptiness from earlier any day. He doesn’t know how much time has passed when Sirius looks away and clears his throat, struggling to sit up. He sighs inwardly but helps him without saying anything; he knows that any attempt at convincing him to rest is bound to fail.

He curls up next to him and watches him out of the corner of his eye, wondering if he should ask what happened, but his parents returning with a tray of soup save him from making that decision.

Sirius eats slowly, the still present tremble of his hands probably not making it easier and they’re all mostly silent. Sirius avoids looking at any of them and his parents just let him know that he can stay as long as he needs to.

It’s only when they’re slowly getting up the stairs to his room that he remembers that they’re going to share his bed, and he frowns at the way his heart jumps at the thought. They always do that when Sirius visits because they don’t have a guest room, and sometimes even at school when one of them can’t sleep and he can’t figure out why it should make him as nervous as it does.

He swallows and shoves the thought away. He can worry about that _later_; for now, he focuses on holding Sirius upright and not let the anger at his family for having to do this overwhelm him. The lack of protest at his help is a testament to Sirius’ exhaustion and it’s only that and the calming effect of the warm body pressed against his that keep him from storming off to London; that he’s here now and that James will make sure to keep it that way.

When they finally enter his room Sirius stops short, nearly making him stumble. His eyes are fixed on the bed in the corner opposite the door, a frown marring his features before he shakes his head and pulls away, slowly limping over.

The silence between them feels heavy and all kinds of wrong, but he doesn’t know what to say to make it better either. Sirius hasn’t said more than five words since he arrived and it’s obvious that he doesn’t want to talk about what happened, that he’s not alright, and everything he comes up with sounds meaningless and pathetic in his head already.

He belatedly realises that he’s staring while Sirius discards his trousers, and quickly averts his eyes, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest at the sight of Sirius’ still trembling hands.

When they have both gotten into bed, James turns off the light and feels how Sirius turns his back to him. He’s acutely aware of where his arm presses against Sirius’ back, of the urge to hug him and pull him close, to tell him again and again that he’s safe now, and of the vague feeling that he somehow just… can’t.

He sighs softly, wondering what happened that he suddenly overthinks every little act and thought. He always marvelled at how in sync they are, how easily they communicate without the need for words, how they’re so similar in some points and complementing each other in the rest. But right now, it’s like he doesn’t know what to do with himself at all, like there’s suddenly a line between them he has no idea how to cross, much less where it came from.

The dread and utter helplessness upon seeing Sirius so battered and nearly lifeless hit him like a bludger and just thinking about it makes it hard to breathe. He doesn’t fully understand why it terrifies him so much more than seeing Remus after his transformations for example, but decides to put it down to the cruelty of it having been inflicted by Sirius’ own family, and the fact that it’s around 6 o’clock in the morning, right up with all the other strange thoughts he had over the last hour.

Still, he doesn’t feel tired at all and every time he closes his eyes, he sees the vacant grey eyes staring right through him.

He must have fallen asleep at some point because he startles awake the second time this night when Sirius’ elbow hits him painfully in the side. His first instinct is to shove back and mutter an insult, but then he notices that Sirius is whimpering and twitching, and even with his sleep-addled mind he instantly recognises it for the nightmare it is.

As he always does when this happens, he turns and curls against him. Instead of wrapping his arms around him which only makes him feel trapped, he runs his fingers gently through his still tangled mess of hair and mutters nonsense in his ear in the hope that it’ll be enough to calm him down.

It doesn’t; Sirius keeps trembling against him, low noises of distress escaping him and it pains James more than he cares to admit that even in his sleep, Sirius suffers as silently as possible. When his distress only appears to get worse, he resigns himself to having to wake him up and softly shakes his shoulder, just hoping that it won’t spook him too much this time.

Sirius flinches violently and pulls away from him so quickly that he nearly loses his balance. “Hey Padfoot, it’s alright, you had a nightmare. You’re fine now,” he mutters lowly, carefully reaching out for him, and after a few seconds, Sirius makes a choking noise and turns around, throwing an arm around James’ middle and burying his head in his neck, pushing him on his back in the process.

He pulls him close, his fingers returning to running through his hair and they’re both silent, only stifled sobs and the tears soaking his shirt telling him that they’re both still awake. Eventually, Sirius moves even closer, throwing one leg over his and James' mind goes blank for a second, his heart jumping and blood rushing in his ears.

Sirius seems blissfully unaware of his sudden agitation which only gets worse the more his brain focuses on all the places where their bodies are pressed together; Sirius hipbone digging into his stomach, his fingers clenching into his thin shirt and brushing over the skin on his lower back, and his leg pressing close to his cock that is already reacting to the direction his thoughts are taking.

He nearly chokes at the realisation that he’s turned on by this, there are too many thoughts and emotions coursing through him and all he can do is to force his breathing to stay even and to angle his hip a bit differently. Even ignoring all the implications that might come with this, what in Merlin’s name is _wrong_ with him? His best friend is hurt and terrified and crying and all he can currently think of is the heat that’s seeping through their clothes and the traitorous wish that Sirius might press against him just a bit differently.

Sirius moves his head, his breath ghosting over the skin of his throat and he barely suppresses a shudder, biting down on his lip harshly to not make any noise. He _can’t think_, can’t understand what is happening to him, only praying that Sirius won’t notice, _please_ don’t let him notice.

Even after Sirius falls asleep again, he lies awake for a long time. He’s unable to disentangle his own muddled thoughts, too distracted with willing his erection to go down and also reluctant to look too closely at what it all means.

When he wakes up the next time, sunlight is streaming through the windows and the bed next to him is empty. It takes him a while to recall everything that happened last night, but when the memories come back to him all at once he groans and presses his face into his pillow, only to be assaulted by the distinct smell of Sirius which really doesn’t help right now.

“What’s up Jamie, not enough beauty sleep for you?”

His head flies up at the amused drawl and his eyes instantly land on Sirius, and for a few seconds, he can only stare, his mouth going dry and his heart beating too fast. Again.

Sirius is sitting on the windowsill on the other side of the room, only wearing a shirt and boxers. He has one leg pulled up to his chest, a cigarette dangling between his fingers and a smirk tugging on the corner of his lips – like last night never happened.

He’s all long, pale limbs, the sun painting flecks of blue into his black hair and for a moment images of Sirius laughing assault him, of them sitting together over plans for their next prank, of laughing until tears stream down their faces, arms wrapped around each other; of nights spent under his Cloak on the Astronomy tower talking and hushed conversations about childhood and future plans behind closed bed curtains, of shared secrets they’d always only tell each other and of chasing each other on their brooms.

James swallows because suddenly, he _knows_. He knows why seeing Sirius so hurt made it hard to breathe, why it felt a different kind of bad than seeing Remus after a full moon; he knows why the thought of sharing his bed made him so nervous, why comforting Sirius through his nightmares always feels more important than any lost sleep, why nobody ever manages to hold his attention as much as him, and why he got a bloody boner just from Sirius cuddling against him.

“Cat got your tongue?” Sirius grins, but then frowns at him, head tilting a bit as he does so often as Padfoot and he flicks his cigarette out of the window, jumping to the floor and making his way over to the bed.

James clenches the sheets tightly between his hands, trying desperately to get a grip and not show any sign of the sudden revelation that he has a crush on his best friend. Or is in love. Circe, is he in love?

“No, I’m fine,” he finally croaks out when Sirius drops gracefully down at the end of the bed, grey eyes scrutinising his face in a way that is not helping. “Just tired. You know, someone crashed into our front door last night and all that,” he jokes weakly and pulls himself into a sitting position, needing to put some space between them.

Sirius is silent, still looking at him like he’s searching for something and he forces himself to not look away. But he’s an oblivious idiot, isn’t he? His mind is still assaulting him with moments during which he should’ve realised his attraction, or feelings, or _whatever_ in Godric’s name this is, and he digs his nails into his palms to centre himself and not freak out here and now.

Right. Sirius running away from home, crashing into their front door from sheer exhaustion. “What about you, though? Are you alright?”

Sirius shrugs carelessly and smiles, but he can always tell when it’s not genuine and only just keeps himself from kicking him. “Sure, you know me. It takes more than my crazy mother to bring me down.”

He frowns, knowing exactly that it’s not that easy. “Padfoot, you-“

Sirius jumps up and claps his hands together. “Come on, what are we doing today? No flying, I don’t want to see a broom for a week. We could go swimming though?”

Sighing inaudibly, he nods and gets up. He’s not going to get anywhere when Sirius doesn’t want to talk about it and if he’s honest, he longs for a few moments of solitude to sort his own mess of a head out. “I’m going to take a shower, let’s have breakfast and then see what my parents say, alright?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer and flees the room, slumping against the bathroom door as soon as it’s closed behind him. He runs his hands through his hair and exhales in a rush; there’s no doubt that this is a one-sided thing, that Sirius is never going to feel the same way – they’re best friends, after all, and not everybody is as much of an idiot as he is.

Not to mention that he’s pretty sure that Sirius has no interest in boys; come to think of it, Sirius doesn’t seem to have any interest in _anyone_. So, the only sensible thing will be to ignore it and to hope that this will pass like his crush on Lily obviously did.

He’s just glad that his parents belong to the more liberal group of witches and wizards that don’t mind so much when their heirs aren’t heterosexual – and he’s only going to deal with that particular question when he’s sure that he’s not going to have a meltdown any second.

He was never any good with keeping things to himself, but he vows that he’ll manage it this time. He’s not going to risk his friendship.

* * *

Sirius stares after James for a few seconds before flopping back down onto the bed. His body still hurts and he’s tired, which only serves as a reminder of his nightmares and the comfort of James next to him.

He doubts it would have been offered so freely if James knew why he stopped slipping into his bed after his nightmares over the course of last year; it’s not that it doesn’t help anymore or that he doesn’t yearn for it, quite the opposite really. But he also wants something more, and it’s never as painfully out of his reach as when he’s curled up against him, whispered promises in the dark of the night and soothing touches that let him pretend that they’re not only friends.

He feels guilty about it, the ‘only friends,’ because if he’s thankful for one thing in the world it’s that he met James in his first year. It also feels a bit like he’s taking advantage and all that, mixed with the fear of James realising what’s going on in his head, that his heart is beating a bit too fast or that he positions himself carefully to hide any traitorous signs of his body, make him avoid the comfort that comes with it.

It’s not something he thought about when leaving Grimmauld Place. Not that there were any other options but entering James’ room last night and finally remembering that they would have to share a bed for the remaining 2 months of the holidays, he hated himself a bit for his oversight.

Still, when James woke him from blurred images of pain and blood and Regulus screaming, dying, begging, without him being able to do anything, he didn’t think twice about clinging to him and it’s probably a testament to, well, _James_, that it actually calmed him down.

It took him a long time to get used to James’ habit of casually touching the people he’s close to; an arm thrown around his shoulders, using his legs as a pillow or a hug just for the sake of it.

When he arrived at Hogwarts, he was _not_ used to that, the only physical comfort he ever experienced was between him and Regulus, but they are brothers. He still remembers his shock and indignation when, after he was sorted into Gryffindor and freaking out in their dorm, James slung an arm around his shoulders and ruffled his hair, how he had pushed him away and glared and James had the audacity to simply shrug and grin at him.

How he was only slightly less shocked when it happened again after he received his letter from his parents. Eventually, James had worn down all his defences and his touch became something grounding, something he actively sought out not only when he needed comfort.

Only ever from James though. Come to think of it, that probably should have been his first clue. He still can’t bear anybody else too close to him and the few attempts at dating he made over the last year all ended in him fleeing more or less abruptly, except for the short fling that he had with Remus which, while enlightening and rather satisfying, still ended in something close to a disaster.

At the same time, the effect of James touching him changed; it’s still soothing, but now the nails scraping over his scalp also send tingles down his spine, the arm thrown around his shoulders carelessly makes his heart beat faster and their tangle of limbs has his blood boiling.

He’s just thankful that nobody but himself will ever know how long it took him to actually figure out what it means, and some part of him still wishes he never had. But he got used to it, as much as that is possible, and the last few months of the term he has been mostly successful in avoiding situations that were just too close for comfort while making sure that it was never obvious. He’ll just have to try and stick to that, even with sharing a bed.

He’ll push it right down into the abyss of his mind, together with everything that happened between his mother and him, the desperate pleading in Regulus’ eyes for him to stay and them both knowing that he couldn’t, with the hurt he inflicted on Remus by rejecting him and the hurt it causes him to listen to James’ ramblings over Evans. He wonders if an abyss might ever become too full, but he’s pulled out of his weird train of thought when James comes back into the room.

He's only wearing a towel wrapped around his hips and his still wet hair is dripping on his shoulders, little drops running over his chest that glint in the sunlight. It shouldn’t make Sirius’ mouth go dry and his breath hitch – he sees that image in their dorms more often than he can count, – but somehow, here in the privacy of James’ room, he has to force himself to look away.

“Did you lie here the whole time?” James asks while pulling out clothes and getting dressed, his back now turned which really doesn’t help with his resolve to not stare.

“Yeah, I love the quiet and the calm,” he says seriously and James snorts, shaking his head at him.

“You should probably put on some trousers before we go to breakfast.”

“Not a fan of my pretty legs?” he teases but gets up and grabs a pair of shorts out of his trunk. James doesn’t answer, only looking at him with a weird expression before turning back around.

“Come on then, it’s already noon but I’m sure my mum saved us some food,” he eventually says, and Sirius lets it slide.

James’ parents are sitting in the kitchen and Euphemia insists on running another set of diagnostic charms on him. While they come back mostly fine, she tells him to take it slow for the next few days and finally, asks him what happened that he ran away.

Sirius really, _really_ doesn’t want to talk about it and keeps it as vague as possible – that they got into a fight over his parents’ expectations, that he told them he’s not going to fulfil them, and overall focuses more on the part that was about the looming war and the dark lord than the actual topic that made his mother lose her temper.

Fortunately, the idea that his parents could force him to join Voldemort is reason enough in the eyes of the Potters and both of James' parents tell him that he’s welcome to stay indefinitely.

“While you’re at school we might be able to clean out the attic and transform it into a room for you, then you won’t have to share James’ until one of you moves out,” Fleamont says and Sirius nearly chokes on the gratitude he feels.

Euphemia smiles at him knowingly and squeezes his shoulder.

“So, what are your plans for today?” she asks in an obvious attempt to change the subject and James, who has been silent for most of the conversation, only throwing worried glances in Sirius’ direction that he ignored, perks up.

“Well, Sirius said he really doesn’t feel like flying so we thought we could go swimming. It’s also not so strenuous and with the weather, it’s actually the best idea I can think of.”

Euphemia nods. “You could ask your other friends to come over if you’d like? They could even stay a night if we put two mattresses into your room,” she suggests, and Sirius has to bite back a wince.

He doesn’t think it would be a good idea; Remus still didn’t forgive him when they left for the holidays and they both had a hard time pretending around James and Peter that nothing was wrong. It would only be worse here, where they don’t have a whole castle and Remus’ excuses that he has to study to avoid each other.

He only belatedly realises James’ eyes on him and simply shrugs; there’s no good reason why he should refuse, so he’d simply have to suffer through it if Remus and Peter agree. It might even help with putting some distance between him and James.

“I think Peter is travelling with his parents, and it’s calmer if it’s only the two of us. Maybe later in the holidays,” James tells his mother to his surprise, but he won’t argue something that fits his needs. Besides the tension between him and Remus, he’s also not that keen to face more people looking at him with worry and pity, as if he’s going to break down any moment. He just wants to forget.

When they finish breakfast, they get some towels, snacks, and drinks and make their way through Godric’s Hollow. There are a lot of people out and about, sitting in their gardens or wandering the narrow streets, with kids playing in between, and many of them call friendly greetings towards them. It somehow looses the knot in Sirius’ chest a bit, the display of kindness and community that he would be hard-pressed to find in London, much less towards his parents who avoid the neighbourhood like the plague.

When they reach the forest on the other side of the village it gets quieter, the trees swallowing a lot of the noise and granting an alleviation to the burning sun. They walk in silence until they arrive at the hidden lake, only a few people scattered around the shore.

“Should we walk a bit towards the other side?” James asks, gesturing to a spot they always occupy during their summers which is hidden from view by the low hanging branches of willow trees.

“Sure, though I really can’t wait to get into the water. I haven’t dipped you for nearly a year,” he says with a grin, earning him a shove that has him stumbling. He instantly returns the favour, and they tumble more than they walk until they reach their spot, sweating and out of breath but laughing loudly at each other.

They don’t waste a second to discard their shirts and jump into the lake, the cold water a shock against his heated skin as well as instant relief.

They both just swim for a while, until he gets bored and dives, sneaking up on James who’s floating on his back like the naïve idiot he is. He grabs his shoulders and dips him under, holding him a few seconds there before letting go and quickly throwing himself backwards to put some distance between them, but he’s unable to keep his laughter in at James’ befuddled expression, spitting out water and glaring as he is.

That, together with the little fact that he’s still a bit sore from the previous day, leads to James catching up to him a bit too quickly for his liking and soon he’s the one being held down. He wraps his arms around James' middle, trying to pull him under with him and soon they’re a gasping knot of limbs and he can once again feel his blood rushing and his skin prickle at the contact.

He stills and they stare at each other silently until he coughs and lets go. “I think I’m heading out,” he says and winces at the roughness of his voice, quickly turning around and swimming to where their towels lie.

He drops down, ignoring the slight tremble in his hands and doesn’t look at James when he lies down next to him. The silence feels awkward but try as he might, his brain only provides him with pictures that are decidedly not appropriate, and he rolls on his stomach for good measure.

Right, something harmless. “Heard from Evans over the holidays?” he asks with a raised brow, inwardly cursing himself for bringing up that particular topic. At least it’ll distract him.

James frowns at him and slowly shakes his head. “No, why should I? We never talk over the holidays, or well, ever apart from her insulting me.”

He only hums in response, burying his face in the crook of his elbow to avoid looking at him.

“Hey, I thought we should make a Grimoire,” James says after the silence stretched for a while. “You know, a collection of our greatest pranks! You remember when we flooded the Slytherin common room last year and everybody thought the window to the Great Lake had a leak? We need to document that stuff for generations to come!”

He turns his head, grinning up at him and ignoring the nagging question when silence became something to avoid between them. “That’s an awesome idea! Though it could also serve as evidence, so we have to be careful.”

James nods, a pensive look crossing his face while he’s biting his bottom lip, and Sirius closes his eyes.

“We could do it like the map, that you need a password to view it,” James says, and he hums again, still not looking at him.

A hand on his shoulder nearly makes him jump and when he looks up James is sitting, legs pulled to his chest and a worried crease between his brows. “Are you alright, Pads? Mum said you should take it slow – “

“I’m fine,” he grunts, shrugging James’ hand off by sitting up as well and quickly occupying himself with rummaging around in his bag.

“If we want to code the book like the map, we’ll have to figure out how to apply the charm to different pages at once though, it would be annoying if we had to say the password for every single one,” he adds, trying to stir them back to the safer topic. Merlin, but there are too many things he wants to avoid at all costs and no matter how good of an actor he is, it’s threatening to become overwhelming.

When he turns back James is still looking at him but quickly averts his eyes, nodding. “I’m sure Remus might have an idea for that, he was also the one who figured it out for the map.”

He sighs inaudibly, flopping back down. As he said, too many topics to avoid.

They spend the whole day like that; swimming, dozing in the shadows between the trees and trying to come up with a list of pranks they want to write down and another one with pranks they want to do over the next year.

While it does manage to distract him from all the stuff he doesn’t want to think about, he can’t shake the feeling that there’s something wrong, an awkwardness lingering under the surface of all their interactions that makes something hurt within his chest. It’s never been uncomfortable or strained between them, and he doesn’t know why it suddenly changed.

Even after he finally understood that he feels way more for James than just close friendship, he always managed to keep up their normal interactions, at least apart from the whole ‘sharing a bed after nightmares and avoiding to touch James’ thing.

Now though it feels different and he catches James looking at him weirdly from time to time, a look in his eyes that he can’t decipher. He just hopes that he didn’t do or say anything stupid last night, and when they go to bed that evening, he’s more anxious than he wants to admit.

He once again turns his back to James, but it takes him an eternity to finally fall asleep, and it’s restless and plagued with nightmares of Regulus dying and pain, but now it’s also the horrible image of losing all his friends because of his own stupidity.

Thankfully, James somehow doesn’t seem to notice, and he thinks he managed to keep his distance through the night. He does wonder if it means something that James _doesn’t_ _notice_, at the same time that there’s suddenly this tension between them. Sometimes at school, he even knows when they sleep in different beds, but he shoves the fear that James’ ignores it on purpose as far away as possible.

When they sit at the breakfast table the next morning, there’s a sharp knocking on the front door. He doesn’t think anything of it when Euphemia gets up to answer the door, right until he hears the shrill voice of his mother echo through the corridor and he freezes in his movements.

His heart is beating painfully fast in his chest, and not in the good way it does whenever James touches him but like it’s trying to choke him, and his hands once again start trembling.

He smiles shakily at James when his hand lands on his shoulder, but it doesn’t dissolve the fear that is coiling in his gut.

“Where is he? I know this little abomination of a son is here! I demand that you let me talk to him this instant!” Walburga’s voice reaches him and he cringes at the title.

He can’t make out Euphemia’s answer as she, contrary to his mother, obviously speaks in a more civil manner.

There’s a long pause during which he can only hear the low tone of Euphemia, but then his mother is screaming again. “Well, if you want to house that poof of a disgrace, I’d advise you to keep him away from your son, I’m not sure it isn’t infectious.”

James’ hand clenches on his shoulder and he feels the blood drain from his face. Without looking at anyone he jumps up, his chair clattering to the floor behind him and, ignoring James calling his name, he storms out of the kitchen and towards the front door.

His mother stands in the doorway in all her terrible glory, sneer and condescending manner firmly in place, but he simply shoves past her, ignoring her as well apart from the vicious “Fuck you! Fuck you and that whole bloody family!” before he breaks into a run, leaving the Potter property and putting as much distance between it and him as possible.

He just needs to get away, needs to not think, to not see their expressions. But Merlin he should’ve never told his mother the reason for his refusal to marry, maybe Regulus did have a point.

He shakes his head, trying to dispel the thoughts and just runs faster. As soon as he reaches the safety of the forest he transforms into Padfoot, nearly stumbling over his legs due to doing it mid-run, and he dashes through the trees until he eventually reaches his and James’ spot.

Not for the first time he mourns that, even in Animagus form, his brain just won’t shut up, but he still feels too drained to keep on running right now.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been lying there when he hears branches cracking and the sound of laboured breathing and only a few seconds later James plops down next to him. He growls lowly in his throat but is ignored, a hand tentatively reaching out to pet him. He flinches away and can hear James’ sighing under his breath.

“Listen, Sirius-“

But he can’t do this right now, he really can’t. He transforms back and snarls at him, all the anger and disappointment and desperation breaking free, clawing its way out of the abyss of his mind.

“Shut up, James, just shut the fuck up!” he snaps, his voice bordering on hysterical. “I don’t want to hear it and for Merlin’s sake, just leave me the fuck alone!”

He spins on his heel and takes off again, branches hitting his face and his feet uncoordinated, making him stumble every other step, hands scrambling along trees to hold himself up but he barely feels any of it.

He already regrets his outburst but it’s not like he can turn around and apologise right now, he just needs to be alone, to get a hold of his temper and overflowing emotions and he doesn’t want to talk about it, or see the pity or revulsion in his eyes.

Transforming back doesn’t help, of course, but at least he’s faster that way. He doesn’t even want to think about all the implications that come with his mother’s revelation. He knows that the Potters are more liberal and probably won’t mind it as much, just like it’s more accepted in the general opinion of the wizarding world, but that’s still different to sharing a bed with your best mate and he’s terrified that James is going to distance himself for real now.

The sharp shards of doubt that plagued him last night hit him out of nowhere and he whimpers, already seeing their friendship crumbling in his mind. Not that he made it easier for himself just now.

He spends the whole day like that, alternating between running through the forest, resting and feeling like he’s going mad whenever he’s not moving. He ignores the screaming of his body, telling him that he’s doing too much, that he needs to eat something. His mind is telling him to _move_, to get away, and despite being in a huge fucking forest he still feels like a caged animal.

When he returns to the house it’s already getting dark and he just nods along wordlessly to Euphemia’s talk that he should be more careful, should take care of himself, that they don’t mind. It’s like he can’t process what she’s saying, and he’s lying awake a long time and gets up again before James even stirs.

He grabs a slice of toast but feels too nauseous to really eat and leaves the house at sunrise. No matter how far he runs, how much he moves, he’s flooded with images of Grimmauld Place, with guilt and worry for Regulus, with self-hatred for what he did to Remus, with pain in his chest at the knowledge that he wants something he can never have. It’s like his mind finally hit its breaking point and no matter how hard he tries to shove everything back into a neat little box he can ignore, it simply doesn’t work.

He’s exhausted and angry, and he only transforms back once because he feels the burning need to scream and shout at nothing which only leads to crying and he has no idea how to go on like this, how to appease the feeling of having a hole in his chest that’s eating away at him.

* * *

James paces restlessly on the front lawn, unable to draw his eyes away from the edge of the forest for long and his bottom lip long since sore because he can’t stop biting it. He feels nearly as helpless as he did when Sirius arrived three days ago, and while his mother says that he should give him time, he feels like he’s failing him.

All the doubts that are piling up in his mind ever since his realisation only add to his high-strung nerves and he’s questioning every move he makes towards Sirius. Where he once carelessly threw his arm around him, he now hesitates, where he once voiced everything that came to mind, he’s now weighing his words carefully and he bloody _hates_ it.

But he doesn’t know how to stop it, he’s so scared to give himself away that he couldn’t even bring himself to pull Sirius close the previous nights when his nightmares came once again, and he hates himself a bit for that, too.

And he doesn’t even want to start on what Sirius’ mother revealed. Not because he minds, obviously, but he wonders why Sirius didn’t tell him, if he maybe noticed his attraction and rather avoided giving him any hope or if he just doesn’t trust him enough to not be appalled.

He groans at himself, running a hand through his hair for the hundredth time. He knows, rationally, that this is bullshit. He didn’t even realise it himself until 2 days ago and he’s aware that Sirius always had a hard time talking about personal matters. James already knows more about him than most, but that doesn’t mean that Sirius behaves like an open book towards him. There might be a grain of truth in his ‘fear of rejection’-theory though, but the rest is rather ridiculous anxiety. He dearly hopes so, at least.

The sun is already setting, the low light painting long shadows over the street and washing out the colours. The calm scenery is a stark contrast to his tangled emotions and thoughts and he’s so immersed in his own mind that he nearly misses the figure that’s walking slowly towards the house.

When he looks more closely, he instantly recognises Sirius, despite his untypically hunched shoulders and sluggish movements and he sighs, quickly making his way towards him. There are leaves and twigs hanging in what once has been a bun and smudges of dirt on his cheeks, his lips are chapped and his clothes rumpled and torn in places, leading James to the conclusion that he must have spent the day running again. 

He doesn’t say anything, just throwing an arm around his shoulders while ignoring the warmth spreading through his chest at the contact – but really, how did he not notice this earlier – and makes sure that Sirius doesn’t run into anything. He looks dead on his feet and doesn’t protest when James pushes him down in a chair and puts a plate full of food in front of him.

While the silence between them is still oppressive and heavy, Sirius at least stopped flinching and snapping at him, so he counts it as progress.

When they go to bed, Sirius doesn’t turn his back like the previous nights and James is acutely aware of the places where their arms are pressed together, Sirius’ skin warm and soft against his. He moves his fingers, just a bit, so that his pinkie and ring finger are loosely linked with Sirius’ and just hopes that his drumming heartbeat isn’t as audible as he thinks it must be.

Sirius doesn’t react but doesn’t pull his hand away either, much to his relief. He can hear his breathing evening out, but he’s awoken two times that night from the twitching and low whimpering next to him.

He grits his teeth against his mind telling him that he’s a coward and pulls him close, reminding himself that a few months ago he wouldn’t have thought about it twice.

While he stubbornly ignores his own anxiety of giving himself away, he resolves to finally get Sirius to talk. It can’t be good to suppress everything and while it’s always a fine line between putting too much pressure on Sirius or not enough, he had his days of avoidance and brooding and maybe just needs to get it out.

Sometimes, he just wants to shake him, to shout at him that he doesn’t have to keep up this bloody mask around him all the time, but he knows that Sirius lets him see much more than anybody else, that it won’t get him anywhere to be too insistent and also, that a lot of it comes from his own frustration at everything that is going on.

He doesn’t let him get away the next day, pulling him out into the back yard after breakfast and ignoring his scathing remarks and grumbling all the way.

Spinning around, he puts both his hands on Sirius’ shoulders and swallows around the sudden lump in his throat at the hollowness of the usually bright eyes.

“Alright, here’s what we’re going to do. I get that you don’t want to talk about it but Pads, at one point you have to. I hope you know that I don’t care one bit if you’re gay or if it’s even true what your harpy of a mother said, but you can’t go on like this.”

Sirius opens his mouth to interrupt him, but he shakes his head. “I’m not finished. I get that it sucks and you don’t like to talk about that stuff if you don’t have to, so I have a plan. I already convinced my parents and we’re going camping. You, me and the two bottles of firewhiskey I nicked from my father.”

He smirks towards the end of the sentence and a warm sense of satisfaction spreads through him when Sirius’ eyes light up at the prospect. It should probably worry him that alcohol is what does it but right now, he’s just glad that he doesn’t look like a bludger could do his head in and he’d only say, ‘thank you.’

It took some convincing for his mother, but she eventually agreed that a change of scenery might help – and of course, the fact that she doesn’t know about the firewhiskey. He’s dreading and looking forward to the whole thing in equal measures and reminds himself a few times of his resolution to be there for him. It helps that they’ll just be in the forest and only for a night though, his parents too worried to let them go much further without supervision.

He knows that Sirius doesn’t see him the same way, that they’re just friends, _‘like brothers,’_ but he won’t do anything to risk that friendship – really, he can live with having ‘only’ that and be happy, and he will get over these stupid feelings eventually. 

Sirius is still quiet until they leave in the late afternoon, but he hopes that it’ll get better after a few drinks. They have never tried firewhiskey, only wine a few times when they managed to convince the elves, but that always served to loosen them all up a bit.

They pitch their tent at the same place in the forest they always visit and use the remaining evening to go swimming and collect some wood for a fire. They still barely talk but it’s a lot more comfortable than it has been the days before. He tries to ignore his hesitance to touch Sirius, forcing himself to behave as normal as possible, but it’s hard to tell if he’s actually successful with the way Sirius seems to constantly keep some space between them.

When the sun disappears behind the trees and the first stars start to reflect on the dark surface of the water, they light up the fire, sitting down on a blanket they’ve laid out in front of their tent and heat up the food his mother made them.

When they’re finished, Sirius washes their bowls, all the while grumbling that he can’t wait to finally use magic out of school, and James digs the bottles of whiskey out from the bottom of his bag.

He waits for Sirius to sit down again and after flashing him a grin, takes a large sip from the bottle. He instantly regrets it, the burning so strong that he splutters and coughs and tears gather in his eyes.

Sirius barks out a laugh, and while it’s still a bit rough and too sharp around the edges, he can’t help but smile at how it finally brings back some life to his face.

Still, he shoves him and holds out the bottle. “Come on, let’s see if you do much better.”

He does, much to his eternal annoyance which gets only worse with the accompanying smirk. “My cousins gave me some last Christmas, though I had the same reaction as you if it helps,” Sirius says and flops down onto his back, most of the amusement fading from his eyes at the reminder of his family.

James takes another sip, this one going much better, and lies down as well, silence settling over them once more while they hand the bottle back and forth. He watches as the last light fades and the trees overhead become nothing more than an accumulation of shadows and noises, only disrupted by the soft light of the fire occasionally illuminating one part or another.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed but he can feel the alcohol softly taking effect, a distant buzzing, warm feeling in his stomach, when Sirius turns his head to look at him. “Hey, Jamie?”

His lips twitch at the nickname but he ignores it for now. “Yes Pads?”

Sirius props himself up on his elbows and looks out over the dark surface of the lake, his expression solemn but no longer as lifeless as the previous days. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. It’s not your fault my family is…” he gestures helplessly and shrugs, before taking a deep breath. “Either way, I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I’m sorry.”

He nudges him with his knee and hands him the bottle, then sits up as well. “It’s alright, I know you didn’t mean it. Just… talk to me now?” he asks, holding his breath and hoping that Sirius will finally give in.

Sirius sighs and sits up all the way, takes a large sip and then grins crookedly at him. “Is that why you nicked the whiskey, to wear down my defences?”

He just grins and shrugs unapologetically, snatching back the bottle.

“You know me too well,” Sirius exclaims dramatically, but then sobers and runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t even know, it started out like every other fight. Mother going on and on how I finally need to be more responsible and do my duty to the family, me telling her that I don’t give a damn.”

He pauses to grab the bottle from James and turns it thoughtfully between his hands. “She then went on and told me that my views won’t matter much once I’m out of school and ‘do what will be expected,’ meaning, join Voldemort. It started to get out of hand at that point, I told her I’d rather throw myself from the Astronomy tower before doing that.”

James winces at the mental image because Sirius would probably do that if he had no choice but he doesn’t say anything.

“My father then found it necessary to point out that I’ll see that differently once I have a wife and an heir on the way, and I couldn’t help laughing in their faces.” Sirius smiles ruefully but shakes his head and continues, “My mother thought that was the right time to inform me about the fact that they started negotiations about my engagement.”

He can feel his heart miss a beat before his mind catches up, reminding him that this won’t happen, that it doesn’t matter for Merlin’s sake and not to mention, he doesn’t have a chance either way. He’s so occupied with calming himself back down that he nearly misses Sirius’ next words.

“It went on for some time with us fighting if I’m going to marry or not until I told them that, even if they should somehow manage to marry me off, they won’t be able to stand next to my bed and monitor if I really produce an heir, which won’t happen because I’m bloody gay.” He laughs, but it’s a bitter, humourless sound that makes James’ skin crawl at the pain that is hidden underneath it.

“Well, you know the rest already from your mother’s diagnostic charms. It was the first time she ever…” he breaks off, taking another deep breath. “She never used that curse before, I don’t even know how long it lasted. I think my father eventually told her to stop and then they started fighting, which is when I somehow managed to get away.” 

He doesn’t need to see Sirius’ face to know that it’s tense and tired, and he carefully wraps his arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. Sirius exhales in a rush, burying his head in the crook of his neck and they stay silent for some time.

There’s nothing he can say, and he knows he doesn’t need to, either. He told Sirius countless times that his parents are despicable human beings and he knows that Sirius knows that, too.

Eventually, Sirius pulls back and takes another sip before handing him the bottle.

“You know, that’s not even the worst part. Oh, don’t look at me like that, I know that it’s horrible what she did, but I don’t mean it like that.” Sirius huffs and plops back down, rubbing a hand over his face. “What I mean is that I’m fine with being away from them but… leaving Regulus there is… The way he looked at me when he found me packing, Merlin.”

He grimaces and turns a bit so he can look at him. “Did he ask you to stay?” he asks, vowing in the privacy of his mind to hex Regulus if he did. But Sirius quickly shakes his head and sends him a look that tells him that he knows exactly what he’s thinking.

“No, it was… I don’t know, he looked like he didn’t want to let me go but knew that it was the only way. I think we were just both sorry that it has to be this way, that we drifted so far apart… He’s scared I think, he knows that now that I’m gone, they’ll put it all on him, and I’m scared about that, too. He’ll only get himself killed if…”

Sirius doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t have to. He lies back down and loosely links their fingers between them, ignoring the doubts and fears lingering on the edges of his mind.

“You know, we could always kidnap him. We ambush him in the dungeon before the holidays, stun him, wrap him in my Invisibility Cloak and put him in my trunk until we’re here. I’m sure my parents won’t mind another Black,” he says with a grin. They both know that there’s nothing they can actually do, so the only thing he can try is to take Sirius’ mind off it for a bit.

It seems to work as well if Sirius’ barking laugh is anything to go by and he revels in the warm feeling of accomplishment at the first real, carefree expression he’s seen since Sirius arrived. He’s aware that it’s probably also due to the fact that they nearly drank a whole bottle of firewhiskey by now, but he couldn’t care less as long as it works.

“Thanks,” Sirius says softly, and James only squeezes his fingers in response. Both of them fall silent again, only the cracking of the fire and the distant noises of the forest wrapping around them.

“Hey, did you hear from Remus since the holidays started?” he asks when the light of the half-moon falls softly through the trees above them.

“No,” Sirius says, and the guarded tone in his voice makes him turn his head and frown at him in confusion.

“You said something about two bottles?” Sirius asks, dangling the empty one in front of his face and he sighs but feels around for it next to him.

By now, his limbs feel a bit heavy and it’s not only the fire that keeps him warm in his thin shirt, his thoughts feel distinctly slower than usual and his movements more uncoordinated. It’s weirdly nice, and he grins brightly at Sirius when he hands him the whiskey.

“So, Remus?” he asks again once he got it back, and he doesn’t miss Sirius’ wince.

“Well… you know how I’m gay and all that?” Sirius says slowly, causing his eyebrows to rise and not for the first time does he mourn the injustice that he can’t raise one of them in the slightly condescending, questioning manner Sirius masters so perfectly.

Sirius groans again at his expression and rolls onto his stomach, pulling a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket. Handing one to James, he lights them both and exhales before continuing with obvious reluctance. “I started to realise it at the beginning of last school year, or a bit later, I don’t really know. Anyway, when I stayed at Hogwarts over Christmas with Remus, I kind of… had a little crisis about it and so we talked. Turned out Remus was ‘questioning’ as well and…” he shrugs, looking anywhere but at James.

“Well, and?” he asks, still not really seeing the point. There’s a distant voice in his mind telling him that he doesn’t want to hear this, but he blames it on the alcohol, because how is he supposed to know that if he doesn’t have a clue where this is going?

Sirius shoots him a pained look but seems to find something in his expression and, sighing again, goes on. “You know how I don’t do well with being close to unfamiliar people, so we thought, why not try it out together? So, we experimented a bit and turns out I really am gay, Remus really is bi, and the whole thing still ended more or less in a disaster. Remus took it more seriously than I did and got hurt because I don’t return his feelings. So no, I didn’t hear anything from him, and I don’t think I will until we’re back at Hogwarts.”

His stomach already dropped after the first sentence and he has to look away, needing a moment to not get overwhelmed by the sudden, scorching jealousy that’s clawing at his chest. He focuses on the burning from the cigarette and then the whiskey instead, before carefully taking a breath.

“Why didn’t you tell _me_?” he finally asks, loathing how his voice cracks at the end.

Sirius scoffs. “Sure, I try to find out if I’m really gay with the hetero best friend who’s in love with Evans ever since I can remember.”

He could swear there’s a distinct bitterness to Sirius’ tone but when he looks over to him his head is turned away, shadows hiding his face and he puts it down to wishful thinking.

“I’m not,” he says, only comprehending that he did when it’s already out. “And I meant about you and… and Remus,” he quickly follows when Sirius’ head whips around.

“We didn’t want anyone to make a big deal out of it or to make it weird for you or Peter. Anyway, what do you mean,_ you’re not_? Not hetero? Not in love with Evans?” Sirius raises a disbelieving brow and this time he’s sure there’s some contempt hidden between the lines.

He swallows, but Merlin he got himself into this so there’s not much he can do if he doesn’t want to lie. “Both,” he finally says, forcing himself to hold the eye contact. “At least I don’t think I am.”

Sirius stares at him wordlessly for long moments, until he finally smiles. “Alright then. Want to tell me how it has come to this? As I said, Evans ever since I can remember.”

He shoves him half-heartedly but grins. “I don’t know, it’s a recent finding. I think I pursued her more out of habit, the last few months. What about you? Want to tell me why it didn’t work out with you and Remus?”

He doesn’t know why he brings it up again, it’s not like he actually wants to know, but somehow, he also _does,_ and his mind is really not clear enough to think about all this rationally.

Sirius groans and flicks the remnants of his cigarette into the fire behind James before lying his head on his folded arms. “What’s there to tell? He fell in love, I didn’t; he’s hurt, I feel guilty. It was a stupid idea to try this with a close friend.”

He turns a bit so he can see his face more easily. “Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know,” Sirius says tiredly. “Why do people fall in love? If I knew that I wouldn’t – “ he breaks off and shakes his head. “Nevermind, it doesn’t matter,” he mutters and closes his eyes.

James’ thoughts are still racing and he’s unable to look away. The fire washes Sirius’ face in warm, flickering colours, accentuating his cheekbones and his lashes paint dancing shadows over his pale skin. When Sirius opens his eyes he nearly startles at the intensity, the grey like molten silver and he absentmindedly wonders if his face is as heated as it feels.

He looks worlds better now, the distinct sense of wildness and animation that he always thought only Sirius’ carries finally back. It’s such a harsh difference to the muteness and hollow quiet of the last few days that he has to close his eyes for a moment to not let it overwhelm him.

“Hey Jamie?” Sirius asks softly, a small smile tugging at his lips.

He attempts a grin but feels like it comes out rather crooked. “Why do you insist on calling me that?”

It’s a long-time joke between them; Sirius has dismantled his dislike for that nickname piece by piece within their first year. He somehow managed to make him like it, as long as it’s only he who uses it.

“Because I like that I’m the only one allowed to call you that,” Sirius grins and he fondly rolls his eyes at him. It’s the first time that it feels a bit bittersweet because he doubts that it still means the same thing to both of them.

Sirius rolls onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow and takes another large sip from the bottle, before looking down at him. “You ever kissed someone, _Jamie_?”

He startles at the question, searching Sirius’ face for any sign of what he means but coming up blank except for the obvious. “No,” he answers slowly, shaking his head without taking his eyes off him.

They stare at each other, everything around them fading away and when a strand of hair falls out of Sirius’ bun he reaches up instinctively. He’s done this so often that it’s like a natural response but now it somehow feels different, more intimate, and he hesitates in his movement.

Sirius wraps his fingers around his wrist, and he wonders when they’ve moved so close to each other, wonders if he’s actually still breathing and why every tiny gesture suddenly seems to carry a world of meaning.

“Do you want to?” Sirius whispers, the tip of his tongue darting out and his eyes are instantly drawn to his lips that are shining a bit in the soft glow from the fire. His mouth is dry and his pulse is racing too fast, but somehow he still manages to nod, not sure if he still knows what exactly they’re talking about.

Sirius leans forward and he feels his breath ghosting over his face. He closes his eyes and still can’t believe this is actually happening when Sirius’ lips are brushing his, only the barest touch that sends shivers down his spine and warmth spread through his chest. The feelings rushing through him are so intense he feels like he could cry if he let himself, like he’s so absurdly happy that his body doesn’t know how to react without it being nearly too much, balancing on the edge of bursting if he doesn’t find an outlet for the power of it soon. 

Sirius lets go of his wrist, his fingers running up his arm and settling on the crook of his neck while he buries his in his hair. “Like this?” Sirius murmurs, his lips brushing against his once again and a low whine escapes him, his head spinning.

He feels Sirius smile against his lips but before he can complain, he kisses him again, more firmly this time and their lips move against each other. It’s warm and soft, and Sirius smells like leather and fire, like summer and something he intrinsically _knows _so well that it makes his heart soar.

He wraps his other arm around his waist and pulls him closer, needing to feel him, to feel _more_ of this. Sirius loses his balance a bit, lying half on top of him now with one leg between his and the sudden contact makes him whine again, but he’s not really caring about the sounds he’s making any longer.

Sirius’ tongue brushes over his bottom lip and he parts his lips, tentatively returning the gesture and he didn’t think this could feel any better, but he has to fist his hands into Sirius’ hair and shirt at the intensity, to somehow hold on to _something. _

While Sirius lifts one hand to his face, the other travels over his chest to his hip, as if he knows that he needs something grounding. His shirt must have slid up at some point because he can feel cold fingers against his heated skin, a thumb drawing small circles over his hipbone, making him moan into the kiss.

It seems to startle Sirius because he pulls back from the kiss. When he opens his eyes, he can see that his pupils are blown and his cheeks are flushed, and he realises only now that they’re both trembling slightly.

“We shouldn’t – “

“Shut up,” he murmurs, pulling him back down gently and Sirius sighs, softly biting his bottom lip.

He unclenches his hand from Sirius’ shirt and lets it wander over his back, fingers slipping under the hem and exploring the soft skin there. Sirius presses even closer, moving against him and they both moan, nails scraping skin when their erections rub against each other.

Sirius then seems to let go of something, straddling his hip and hands becoming more insistent, one sliding up over his ribs under his shirt, leaving goose bumps in its wake and the other burying itself in his hair. He bites at his bottom lip once more and then kisses the corner of his mouth, lips grazing over his cheeks, his ear and down his neck, alternating between biting and kissing and he never knew that any of these parts are so bloody sensitive.

He arches up, seeking more of the friction that makes his head spin, trying to not get lost in all those different sensations but still needing something _more_. He lets his own hands roam over Sirius’ body, mapping out lines and edges and revelling in the warmth where they’re pressed together. He wants to remember it all, every faint scar and bone and the way he feels safer and more content than he thought to be possible, like nothing could ever be wrong again if he just has this.

Sirius grinds his hips again and they’re both breathing harshly, but it’s still not enough, his cock is straining against his shorts and he feels like there’s too much fabric between them.

“Sirius, can we –“ he pants, breaking off at the sensation of lips brushing over his collar bone and the hollow of his throat. Sirius looks up at him, his lips a deep red and his hair a mess, and Merlin how does he look so bloody perfect like this.

“Are you sure?” Sirius asks with a slight frown, keeping himself still above him and he can see that he’s serious, so he stops for a moment and tries to break out of his haze, but finds that he is, that if he does want this with anyone, it’s Sirius.

So he just smiles softly and nods. “Yeah, I really am.”

Sirius leans forward and kisses him again, nothing of the initial hesitation left, and his hands quickly find the button of his trousers. It gets a bit clumsy when they both try to get them off, but somehow they manage and Sirius’ lips once again ghosts over his cheeks.

“I’m not going to sleep with you Jamie,” he murmurs into his ear and he shudders at the feeling of hot breath tingling over his skin, trying to focus on the words. “You just had your first kiss. But we can do this…”

Sirius straddles him once again and they both moan at the feeling of skin against skin, his hands instinctively landing on Sirius’ hips, fingers digging into them while he’s panting, trying to not come from this alone.

Sirius holds himself up on one elbow next to his head, while his other hand sneaks between them and wraps around both of their cocks, slowly moving and grazing over the tip.

He throws his head back and clenches his eyes shut, letting himself get lost in the feeling of the warmth of the fire contrasting with the cold night air, Sirius’ lips wandering over his skin, the soft bite at his bottom lip and the hand that’s stroking them both.

“You look so bloody good like this, do you know?” Sirius whispers against his mouth and he has to swallow harshly against the sudden onslaught of emotions entering the mix, his hands sliding up and clenching into Sirius’ hair, kissing him like it’s the only thing he ever wants to do. And maybe it really is, this all feels too surreal, too good, so much so that he would probably question if it’s even happening at all if he wasn’t so distracted right now.

His heart seems to attempt to beat out of his chest and he can feel heat coiling in his gut, his fingers trembling and when Sirius pulls back from the kiss a bit and he looks up at him, lips swollen, hair sticking to his face and his eyes so incredibly warm and full of lust he comes, his orgasm taking him by surprise in its suddenness and intensity.

“Fuck,” Sirius moans and he can feel him coming as well, his hand erratic before they’re both finished. He leans his forehead against his and they both try to catch their breath, still panting and trembling and not even beginning to grasp what just happened between them.

Eventually, Sirius pulls back a bit, kissing him again, more softly this time and James wraps both arms around him, scared that whatever this is will break as soon as he lets go.

* * *

When Sirius wakes up, the first thing he notices is that his head hurts something fierce. The second thing is that he’s not wearing any trousers and that his legs are intertwined with somebody else’s, which, after a moment of confusion, makes memories of the previous night crash onto him like the Hogwarts Express against a solid wall.

“Oh fuck, Merlin fuck, fuck, fuck!” he swears under his breath and carefully tries to disentangle himself from James. They somehow made it into their tent last night, but the specifics are a bit fuzzy and his pounding head doesn’t help. Thankfully, he remembers everything else quite clearly, though that’s also bringing him very close to freaking out right now.

He finally manages to sneak out of the tent and squints against the sunlight, fighting down nausea that threatens to overwhelm him. Their blanket is still lying on the ground, empty bottles to the side and the fire long since cold.

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, pondering what the hell he should do now. They were bloody drunk, and James apparently just realised he’s not _that_ in love with Evans and not that hetero, or at least he thinks the first part, and Sirius is still acutely aware of how the whole thing with Remus turned out. He has no intention to put himself in Remus’ spot, and neither to let this, whatever this was, damage their friendship.

Alright, so it has to stay a one-time thing. He’s not going to tell James what it actually meant to him – as fantastic as the whole thing has been, he doesn’t think he could take being James’ experiment. He just has to forget how different and _better_ it felt to all his past experiences. Sounds probably easier than it will be but he’s nothing if not stubborn, right? Right.

He grabs his shorts from the blanket, grimacing at the white stain on both items and puts them on while discarding his shirt. Maybe cold water is exactly what he needs now. Maybe if he’s lucky, something will drown him, just a bit.

No such luck, but at least his head doesn’t hurt anymore, his thoughts are slightly less of a mess and he has something that at least resembles a plan if you squint. He has to make sure that he didn’t take advantage because if he did, then the whole thing is a thousand times more difficult and he has to come up with a way to solve _that. _He does remember that he made sure that James wanted it, but they were also drunk, and his mind won’t let him rest until he made sure that it’s not the worst-case scenario.

When he comes back to their spot, James is just stumbling out of the tent and he silently hands him a water bottle and gestures towards the lake. “Go take a swim, you’ll feel better,” he mutters, avoiding his eyes.

James only grunts something incomprehensible but hesitates for a moment, just looking at him while he pretends that he doesn’t notice, digging in their bag for something to eat. Eventually, he leaves, and Sirius plops down on the blanket, staring blankly at the apple in his hand.

He wonders if this is the year that he’s going to fuck up all of his relationships, the more unimportant ones with his family and the ones that actually do matter, and he’s an anxious mess the whole time he’s waiting for James to return, painting pictures of accusations and hatred in his mind.

When James finally sits down next to him, he played out all possible scenarios more than once in his head, but he still chokes on his words the first two times he attempts to speak.

“Pads – “

“Did you, I mean did I,” he stumbles over his words and straightens up, nails digging into his wrist to make him focus like he always did during his fights with his mother. “What I mean is, did I take advantage of you? Were you too drunk, do you regret –“

He flinches at the touch on his shoulder and James snatches his hand away but says quietly, “No you didn’t, and no I don’t regret it.”

He exhales in a rush, at least some of his tension leaving him. It’s not relief, there’s too much he still needs to get out, but in comparison, it should be easy. He doesn’t think that he could’ve forgiven himself for doing something James didn’t want in the first place.

“Good, that’s good.” He chances a look at James who’s staring over the lake, a frown marring his features and his wet hair dripping onto his shirt. He clenches his jaw against what he has to say next, schooling his face into an expression that won’t give away how much it hurts to do this.

“Are we – “ James starts at the same time as he says, “Listen, we – “ and they both pause until James gestures for him to speak.

He nods sharply, turning the apple over in his hand and gathering his resolve. “This was a one-time thing, right? I mean, it’s not like it meant anything, we were drunk, you’re questioning yourself and wanted to experiment, it’s fine,” he says flatly, glancing at James who’s not looking at him. “I don’t want this to impact our friendship, I just saw how that ends with Remus and I really don’t want the same thing to happen with you.”

James is silent for a long time, his fingers pulling out grass aimlessly until he finally turns and looks at him. His expression is tense and guarded, he’s still avoiding eye-contact and his voice is strangely void of any emotion when he says, “Alright, so what you’re saying is that it shouldn’t have happened in the first place and we should just pretend it never did because you’re scared I – you – one of us might get hurt?!”

Inwardly, he’s close to panicking, frantically playing over the last night in his head and searching for anything he could have done that might have given away how he actually feels; he’s pretty sure that if he had just a bit more to drink he would have blurted it out upon the intensity and all the emotions that came with it, upon finally feeling James writhing against him in a way he longed for, for nearly a year.

It’s not unlikely that it has been written all over his face, between his intoxication and the utter contentment and pleasure, he didn’t pay much attention to anything else.

Outwardly, he just shrugs and inclines his head. “Basically, yes. We’re teenagers, it happens, no need to make a bigger deal out of it than it was. Better just ignore it before it gets out of hand.”

The words taste foul on his tongue, and he has to breathe through the clenching in his chest, but no matter how much it hurts, he knows that this will be better in the long run, that it’ll save them both from another broken friendship. There’s no way that James is ever going to feel the same way, and he knows he won’t be able to separate his own feelings from the sex for long.

“Fine, yeah sure, that’s fine,” James says and jumps up, confirming his current train of thought. “I’m gonna head back, can you pack the tent later? I’m still not feeling all that well and you know, mum worries…”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, ducking under the branches of the trees and disappearing out of sight. Sirius keeps staring at the spot where he vanished for long moments until he groans and flops down on his back, rubbing his hands over his face.

He probably shouldn’t have mentioned anything regarding potential feelings at all, just leave it at ‘teenagers are horny, what can you do,’ but it’s too late to change that now. If he scared him off, he just has to carefully keep his distance in the following days and make sure that there’s no way to misinterpret his actions – even more than he already did before last night.

He starts by staying here, hidden from sight by old trees and bushes with only the sound of birds and whatever else lives in the forest for company. He watches how the light shifts in the treetops above him while it wanders and lets his mind drift; he’d love to transform and run, but he can’t let all the stuff here and a small part of him still hopes that James might come back and that they’re going to spend a normal summer day by the lake.

It’s a cruel, painful thing, the way his mind alternates between memories of James pulling him close, afterwards, burying his head in Sirius’ hair like he never wants to let go again; of fingers trailing up his spine and warm skin against his, of the sounds James made and how all of it felt like nothing ever did before. Only to shove images of this morning in between, of the insufferable distance between them, avoiding to look at each other; of hurtful words and disappointments and the feeling that the most important thing he has left in this world is slipping through his fingers while he can do nothing but watch.

He only gets up when the sun is already hanging low, dragging out the inevitable return by packing up everything slowly and trying to not think about the coming night. Nights. Merlin but it’s still six weeks until school starts again, and he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to spend all of them right next to James, now that he knows how it could be, how it feels and that he won’t ever get it back.

James will probably crush on some guy at Hogwarts, or his love for Lily reawakens after he let off some steam. He stops in his movements, digging his nails into his wrist to ground himself against the waves of pain and repeating like a mantra that he’ll get through it, that he’ll deal with it and that he’s going to be _fine_ as long as he doesn’t lose this friendship in the process.

When he finally arrives at the house it’s already dark, his back hurts from lying on the forest floor the whole day and carrying the stuff and he winces when Euphemia greets him in the kitchen. She doesn’t say much, just asking how his day went and putting a plate of food in front of him after gently pushing him into a chair.

He’s not hungry but he hasn’t eaten the whole day and mechanically chews the food, not tasting anything and barely nodding along to her chatter. He sees her looking at him worriedly but pretends he doesn’t notice – after all, there’s not much he could tell her even if he wanted to.

He stands in front of the door to James’ room longer than he cares to admit but seeing that it would be hard to explain why he sleeps in the corridor, he eventually clenches his jaw and walks inside. 

James is sitting on the windowsill, one leg pulled up to his chest and the other dangling next to him, a cigarette between his fingers. His head whips around as soon as he enters, but he quickly looks away again and Sirius sighs inaudibly.

“Hey, you’re alright?” he asks in a desperate attempt at normality after he closed the door, but James only makes a noncommittal sound, so he lets it rest, silently grabbing a set of fresh clothes out of his trunk and leaving for a shower.

When he returns, James is already in bed with a thin blanket wrapped around him and he tries hard to not see it as a safeguard against him but fails miserably.

He just crawls into bed, careful to not touch him and turns his back as soon as he lies down, as close to the wall as possible. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to sleep like this, but exhaustion is catching up on him and he’s already half asleep when he murmurs a “Good Night, Jamie.”

The next days go on like this. James claims he wants to go flying to practice for the next Quidditch season and he disappears into the forest, alternating between walking and running or lying on the soft ground, staring unseeingly into the distance.

They do try to keep up appearances, not only to James’ parents but with each other as well. While Euphemia and Fleamont easily accept that Sirius still doesn’t feel like flying again, and probably think that it’s normal for them to not spend every day attached at the hip, it doesn’t work that well between them.

Their attempts to talk to each other turn out stilted and awkward, neither knowing what to say and they keep flinching away whenever they accidentally touch. It’s everything their friendship never has been, and he really doesn’t know how he’s supposed to keep this up, he feels like every moment now he’s going to break apart and just shatter.

His dreams are worse than ever, the usual nightmares steeped in images of James’ cold expression and his friends turning their backs on him, of sitting alone in dark rooms and screaming until he’s hoarse but nobody ever hears him.

No matter how far he runs, the itch under his skin to _do_ something is getting worse and worse and he fears that he’s going to blow something up any day now, like even his magic is so agitated that it needs some form of aggressive relief, so beside all the self-hatred and guilt and constant onslaught of emotions he’s bloody scared that he’ll seriously hurt someone when he finally reaches his breaking point.

He thinks about leaving, turning over the idea of writing to Andromeda. She’d probably take him in, the two black sheep of the Blacks, but she has a small daughter and by now, he’s too scared to hurt somebody to actually search her out. Not to mention that he has no idea how to explain it to anybody and that it feels like hitting the final nail into the coffin of this friendship – if you can even call it that any longer.

It’s nearly two weeks after they went on their bloody camping trip and once again, he’s sitting in the same spot where it all went wrong. He still comes here nearly every day, even when it’s calling memories to the forefront of his mind that are now bittersweet. Sometimes it’s easier to get lost in the ghosts of better days, even if it always hurts more afterwards.

He jumps when he hears branches cracking and the rustling of leaves that tells him after spending weeks in the forest that someone’s walking into his direction, and he just prays that he won’t be found.

He doesn’t expect James to step through the trees and for a moment he only stares, his heart beating in his throat and fingers clenching in the moss beneath him.

James stays silent though, just staring back and he finally stands up, taking a hesitant step in his direction. Not longer squinting against the rays of light he startles at the way he looks; his hair is even wilder than usual and there’s dirt on his cheeks, his eyes are red with dark shadows underneath and his hands balled into trembling fists at his sides.

He doesn’t think that he’s ever seen him so messed up and words spill out before he can think about it twice. “Are you alright? Merlin, are your parents alright?” he takes another step forward but James shakes his head wildly, taking a step back.

“Don’t,” he grinds out, his voice tense and coiled like it’s barely constrained. “You don’t get to act like you – like you bloody _care_, for fuck's sake!” he spits, and even through the obvious exhaustion, his eyes are blazing with fury.

“What – “

“Just shut up!” James shouts and he quickly holds his hands up in a silent gesture of defeat, his heart still beating too quickly and his thoughts racing with questions and confusion.

The only idea that comes to mind about what is going on, is that James wasn’t as alright with what happened as he pretended to be, and the thought makes cold dread spread through his whole body.

“You just – you can’t just – “ James breaks off again, fisting a hand into his hair and pulling while his eyes roam over the small space.

“What, James?” he asks in a low voice, hoping to maybe calm him down a bit and also just wanting to get this over with because he can feel his throat burning and emotions tearing at his mind and all he wants to do is to either make it better, somehow, or disappear.

“Don’t talk to me like I’m the bloody idiot here!” James snaps and quickly crosses the distance between them, shoving him so harshly that he stumbles, his back hitting a tree.

He can feel his own pent-up frustration and anger start boiling and takes a few, measured breaths to not just shove back.

“You can’t just bloody _use_ people like it doesn’t mean anything, you can’t just, just fucking kiss me and then walk away like it doesn’t bother you at all, you can’t just act like it’s unimportant and I’m a simple, fucking _convenience_ for you. I don’t give a _fuck_ what you did with Remus, or maybe I do, I don’t know Sirius you just – “

He can pinpoint the exact moment his hold on his temper slips, the faint ringing in his ears getting louder and he shoves back at James' chest, growling in his throat. “Don’t you dare talk about Remus – “

“What,” James scoffs, and somewhere in his mind, he registers that James is crying but it just doesn’t process. “It’s not like you didn’t do the same fucked up thing to him, didn’t you? Having your fun and when you got tired of it just turning your back on him, walking away like it didn’t mean a thing and treating him like nothing ever happened in the first place, like – “

“I did it for you, you bloody idiot!”

“Fuck you did it for me, you told me it didn’t matter, that nothing changed and now you won’t even look at me, like – “

“Yes, because I fucking love you!”

“I love you too Pads, but you still can’t just walk all – “

“No Jamie, I _love_ you. I didn’t fall in love with Remus because I love you, I told you we shouldn’t keep doing this because _I bloody love you_ and it would tear me apart to just be your experiment, because I –“ he chokes on his own tears and the second is enough to comprehend what he just shouted.

All the fight leaves him in an instant and he watches in silent horror as James takes a few, slow steps towards him, readying himself for the punch that’s probably waiting for him. He could never keep his mouth shut and look where it got him.

James stops only a foot away from him, a crease between his brows and he looks so wrecked like this, tear stains over his cheeks and his hazel eyes unnaturally bright. “You really do?” he asks lowly, his voice such a stark difference to their shouting from just a few seconds ago that it takes him a moment to process the words.

He swallows against the lump in his throat, but it still comes out rough when he says, “Yeah, I’m sorry. I never meant to tell you because, well – “ he breaks off and gestures helplessly, looking at a point over James’ shoulder and desperately trying to not fall apart right here and now.

“You bloody idiot,” James murmurs and crosses the remaining distance between them, his hands reaching up to tangle in his hair and his thumbs trying to wipe away the tears.

“What are you doing?!” It comes out more like a whisper than anything else and he raises his hands without really knowing what he wants to do with them, so they only end up on James’ wrists.

“We bloody, bloody idiots,” James repeats and he’s grinning now, and Sirius is so terribly confused that it takes him a long time to notice the change in pronouns.

“I know, I – wait, you –“

James laughs and leans his forehead against his. “Shut up,” he murmurs before kissing him softly, just for a moment before pulling back and looking at him. “I love you too, if that’s alright with you?”

There’s teasing to his voice but also still some uncertainty and Sirius exhales in a rush, an unbelieving laugh escaping together with it.

“Yes,” he breathes, his fingers curling into James’ collar and pulling him back against him, their mouths clashing together. It’s rough and a bit sloppy and Sirius still can’t believe that this is actually happening. His head is spinning and he’s so overwhelmed with the feeling of James’ lips against his, the brushing of their tongues and the fingers tugging harshly at his hair.

He can feel the bark of the tree behind him digging into his skin, can feel every hard line and sharp edge of James against him, and he can’t breathe in the best possible way. Their hands are scrambling, tearing and pulling on clothes and there are a desperate undercurrent and urgency in the way they try to press more closely, to reach every possible place of the other until they break apart, both of them panting and laughing.

He wraps his arms around James’ neck and buries his head in his hair, just breathing and trying to comprehend the last 15 minutes. They stay like this for a long time, just holding onto each other and revelling in the relief of having each other back.

“I’m sorry I hurt you, for what I said,” he eventually murmurs, when his thoughts are less of a tangled mess and he remembers the words he spouted on that morning two weeks ago.

James pulls back and kisses him, fingers brushing his jaw before looking at him. “It’s alright, let’s agree that we were both idiots.”

He smiles and closes his eyes for a moment before he remembers something else. “Why did you actually come here?”

“I don’t know I was just… angry. So much so that I actually fell off my broom and I… Well, I think I just wanted to shout at you for a bit. I didn’t really have a plan,” James says with a sheepish grin and he laughs, warmth spreading through his chest because this is such an unmistakeably James thing to do.

“You fell off your broom?” he says with a smirk and James rolls his eyes at him.

“Yes, and that’s why we’re going to sit down now because my back still hurts, and then we’ll never talk about it again.”

Later that night, when they’re lying in bed wrapped around each other in a mess of tangled limbs, lips swollen and cheeks still flushed, he can feel James look at him and raises his head from his favourite spot at the crook of his neck.

“What is it?” he asks, tugging at one of the black curls.

James hesitates a moment before he asks, “So, are we… Is this serious?”

Try as he might, he can’t suppress his grin. “Well – “

“I dare you to finish that,” James says with fond exasperation, shoving rather ineffectively at his shoulder and he sobers.

“I’m sorry,” he says with a soft smile. “But yes, if you really want to?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I want both kinds of serious.” James grins at him and he thinks he hasn’t been this ridiculously, sappily happy in a long time. Or ever, probably.

“There’s still something on your mind though,” he observes after a few minutes, frowning a bit while he draws aimless patterns over James’ wrist.

“I just thought about how to handle things with Remus, I don’t want to make it even harder for him. But let’s worry about all that tomorrow?”

He sighs softly and buries deeper into James' side. He already thought about that as well but didn’t come up with anything useful yet, and right now he wants to be selfishly content, just for a while.

“Yeah, tomorrow,” he mumbles, closing his eyes and sinking into the warmth and safety that envelops him.

It’s the first night since he ran away from home that Sirius doesn’t have any nightmares.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did writing this, I'm very weak for this particular pairing.  
Also, I might write a sequel to this at some point!  
If you like, you can find me on [tumblr](https://queenofthedagger.tumblr.com/)


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